On the Mend
by Basil's Angel of Music
Summary: Basil of Baker Street has been attacked whilst in the middle of a case and is seriously injured. Now he must rest and not continue his case until he has gotten better. Only the care of his fiancée, Iona will preserve his sanity. Basil/OC fic. I own nothing.


Slowly, very slowly, I was aware of my consciousness returning to me. I was just felt so weak that I had to fight to open my heavy eyelids, a battle which I eventually won. Once I had the strength to do so, I was immediately confused to see that I was now back in my own bedroom. Before everything had gone black, all I could remember was lying broken and left for dead in a dark alleyway. It wasn't until I became aware of the great pain all over my body that I remembered the very reason for being left in that state in the first place. Earlier I had had the living daylights beaten out of me by a couple of vicious ruffians, no doubt sent by that murderous Baron I was now chasing. At remembering this, no matter how much pain I was in, I couldn't force myself to hold back a tiny laugh from escaping my lips. Little did he know that I would not be so easily defeated.

For a while, I laid very still in my bed with my eyes closed, too weak to even move. Soon, I felt a soft hand lightly touch my head, gently caressing through my hair. Opening my eyes again, I was very surprised, but pleased as well, to see my beautiful fiancée Iona, staring down at me. She was smiling, but I could definitely see great concern in those stunning peridot eyes of hers.

"Iona..." I said hoarsely, trying to raise myself up, but grunted at the sudden pain that shot through my body at that point, causing me to collapse back onto the bed.

"Ssshh..." she said, placing a finger on my lips. "You shouldn't move, Basil. You've taken a horrific beating. You need to rest now."

I watched as she reached over towards the bedside table and took a wet cloth out of a bowl of water. She wrung out the cloth and patted it over my forehead. I felt myself begin to relax then, the coolness from the damp cloth as well as the soft touch of her hand seeming to ease my pain surprisingly quickly.

"You're very lucky, you know," she said to me. I thought I could hear a hint of a scold in her voice. "If Inspector Vole and the other policemice hadn't found you on time, you'd be dead by now."

I just let out a soft groan in response. "How long have I been here?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.

"A few hours," she answered, now dabbing the cloth on my cheeks. "Dr. Dawson says you've got a few broken ribs and would very likely be badly bruised. So you should probably rest now for a few days. A week if need be."

"A _week_!?" I cried, trying to sit up again. "But my case -"

"Basil, please," she said firmly, putting her hand to my chest and pushing me back down. "You're in _no_ condition to be going out and solving any cases just now. The more rest you allow yourself, the quicker you'll heal and the sooner you'll be able to go back to your case. I promise."

I opened my mouth then to protest, but decided not to, seeing that there was no arguing with her as of now. So instead I just laid my head back down onto the pillow, now feeling rather useless due to my present situation.

Just then, the door opened and my good friend Dawson came in.

"How is he?" he asked my fiancée.

"He's just woken up," she told him. "Though he's not too happy about being told he'll need to rest for a while."

I just chuckled as I shook my head. "My dear," I said to her, unable to help the smile crossing my face at that moment. "I think that, even in my condition, I can still speak for myself."

She just laughed in response before I felt her starting to dab the cloth on my partially exposed chest. Surprisingly, this actually helped me to think of a new plan for my case, which thankfully didn't take very long.

"Dawson, has my injury been mentioned in the papers yet?" I asked my friend and colleague.

"It's made headlines already, Basil," he answered.

"Ah... excellent..." I smiled.

"Basil, what are you getting at?" asked Iona, raising an eyebrow.

I returned her suspicious gaze with a questioning one of my own. "What do you mean, my dear?"

She just folded her arms. "Basil, I may only have known you for about a year and a half now, but that's still long enough for me to know when you're plotting something in that busy brain of yours. So I can tell right now that that is exactly what you're doing."

She spoke with a definite firmness, though I could see in her eyes that she was just being humorous. So I just chuckled again in response.

"I'm not plotting anything, sweetheart," I answered her, making my voice sound as innocent as I could manage. "I was merely about to suggest to the good doctor here that we exaggerate my injuries to the public now."

"But, Basil," said Dawson. "Do you really think that is necessary?"

"Certainly," I answered. "If we lure these rogues into a false sense of security, then it will be easier for us to catch them. Tell the press that I have a concussion, or I am delirious or in a coma. Whatever you like, but you must tell them that I 'may not live to see the end of the week', you understand?"

The good doctor nodded again. "Anything else?"

"Yes," I answered. "My pipe is on top of the mantelpiece and my tobacco is in the Persian slipper."

"Yes, Basil," said Dawson before leaving the room. Once the door had closed behind him, Iona turned back to me.

"Basil, you should rest, not smoke," she said.

I just laughed again. "Whatever you say, Dr. Campbell," I replied jokingly.

She giggled that sweet giggle of hers in response. When she stopped, she just sent me one of her loving looks for about a few seconds before slowly leaning in towards me and kissed me, an act I soon realized I enjoyed quite often. Eagerly, I returned her kiss and started running my fingers through her curly brown hair.

Pulling back, she whispered, "I do wish you wouldn't put yourself in danger like that all the time."

I just smiled at her. "My dear, danger is my middle name," I whispered back.

"Really?" she asked me. "I thought it was Philip."

I chuckled again at my fiancée's joke. "You know what I meant," I simply answered.

"Yeah, I know," she replied with a laugh. A few seconds later, she leaned in again for another kiss.


End file.
